


i got it bad & that ain't good

by foxxcub



Category: Magic in Manhattan - Allie Therin, Spellbound - Allie Therin
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, kind of PWP but with canon context, rory is a bossy bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxxcub/pseuds/foxxcub
Summary: "What the hell do I know about feelings?” Arthur murmured to himself.(aka The Missing Love Scene from the book)
Relationships: Arthur Kenzie/Rory Brodigan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	i got it bad & that ain't good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frogy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogy/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, frogy!

Years ago—hell, maybe it was decades ago, Arthur’s old and time tends to ground to halt sometimes—he’d gotten completely smoked in Jade’s club after a miserable night not long after getting back stateside. She’d sipped her water across the small table from him in the empty club, the edge of her heel knocking gently against his ankle as Arthur stared into his glass tumbler like it held the wonders of the world. 

Then she’d asked Arthur the question he’d secretly mulled over a million times: “If you could choose to be a paranormal, what would you be?”

Arthur had snorted inelegantly and stirred his index finger into his whiskey. “Would I be anyone else besides me?” he asked, sucking his finger clean with a loud pop.

She’d rolled her eyes. “You know exactly what I mean, Ace.”

“I wouldn’t be able to drink. No one would ever wish that upon themselves.”

“Fine, play dumb. I’ll answer for you.” She sat back, looked him up and down in a devastatingly accurate impression of the women (and men) who ate up him with their eyes each night. “You’d be an empath.” 

“Boring.” Yet his heart had jerked for a split second. 

Jade knew him far too well.

“To be able to know exactly what someone is feeling, especially someone you love—wouldn’t that be a power worth having?” she’d asked with an exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes.

“I’d need to be in love for it to matter,” Arthur said. 

She’d smiled. “You love _me_ , though, right?”

“I don’t need to be an empath to know what you’re feeling, dollface.” He’d swirled his whiskey and downed it in one go. The burn felt nice. Smooth. 

“I think you’d be the most powerful para around. No one would be able to get a damn thing past you; you’d know the instant someone was lying.”

Arthur held his empty tumbler up, gesturing to the bar for a refill. Most of the staff had left for the night. “So every time you tell me you’re out of my favorite vintage I’d tell you to close your damn head?”

“Such language, Mister Kenzie.” Jade took his glass from his hand and stood up in one fluid, graceful movement. He watched as she sashayed to the bar, a new bottle of said vintage sliding from a shelf nearby to hover in mid-air and wait patiently for her.

_Wouldn’t that be a power worth having?_

“What the hell do I know about feelings?” Arthur had murmured to himself, and not long after he’d blissfully passed out on Jade’s couch.

~*~

The logical, pragmatic part of Arthur’s brain that is normally in tip-top shape knows that he’s the last person to be put in charge of something as precious as Rory Brodigan’s virginity. He can’t remember the last time he tumbled with a virgin, and he’s not used to being mindful, or tender, or any of the multitude of adjectives that come to mind when he thinks about what Rory needs—what he deserves. 

And yet...the rest of Arthur’s brain just wants to _feel_.

“God, God, Ace, please...” Rory’s voice is a rumbling wreckage of emotion, deeper than Arthur could ever imagine, and so fucking gorgeous Arthur wants to devour it, _him_ , everything. He spreads his hands down Rory’s arms, tracing lovely lines of wiry muscle and olive skin. Rory arches into the touch like a flower bending to the sun.

“Do you even know how beautiful you are?” Arthur breathes against the curve of Rory’s neck. “You’re like a work of art.”

“D-don’t think about hangin’ me in a museum,” Rory gasps.

“Maybe I’ll just keep you here in a frame.”

“Or maybe you could just shut your trap and—” Whatever quip Rory has at the ready dies out the moment Arthur grinds his hips against him in a slow roll. He moans, high and breathless, the silky deepness gone, his hands scrambling to clutch Arthur close.

“Again,” he whispers. “Please, fuck, Ace, again.”

Arthur has never felt so powerful.

Somewhere by the bed in his nightstand he’s stashed a jar of oil, though it’s been ages since it was used. He paws around in the top drawer blindly, searching with one hand while counting the ridges of Rory’s ribs with the other. He licks at one hardened nipple and grins at both the yelp Rory gives and the feel of the familiar cold glass jar sliding into his palm. 

“Lift up, babe,” Arthur says, tapping two fingers against Rory’s flank. Without opening his eyes Rory obliges, and Arthur slides a pillow underneath his hips. Rory’s cock is straight up at attention, bobbing and glistening in the light from the streets outside. Arthur can’t help himself; he nuzzles the wet tip, gives it soft little kitten licks. Arthur’s emotions are completely incongruous in this moment—animal desire versus gentle affection versus staggering possessiveness. He wants to pin Rory down and fuck him into next week while simultaneously kissing every inch of his body. 

Rory shivers underneath him, the heat in his eyes shuttering for a split second. “It—it only hurts at first, right?” He thrusts up, a quick jerk of his cock, and it makes Arthur smile, knowing Rory’s nervous but so, so desperate for it. 

“You’ll be tight,” Arthur says. His throat suddenly feels raw. “But I promise I’ll make you feel good, doll. I’ll make you forget your own name.”

“I’ve got two of ‘em, so you better work hard,” Rory says. He gives a weak smirk, one Arthur smooths his thumb over and kisses, slow and filthy. 

It’s not Arthur’s finest moment when he spills the oil over the edge of the nightstand, but at least Rory giggles and makes a snarky comment about Arthur’s “old man reflexes”. Arthur scoops up what slick he can into his hand and coats his fingers, and he’d be lying if he said the sound of Rory’s laughter dying off into a choked moan the instant Arthur slides a finger into his ass wasn’t the most satisfying thing in the world.

“Goddamn, that’s...that’s… _fuck_.” Rory presses his head into the pillows, already pushing down against Arthur’s finger. 

Arthur chuckles and nips at Rory’s lips. “Like it?”

“It feels huge, but I know your dick’s bigger, so…” Rory swallows. He’s flushed, mouth puffy and bruised, his dark eyes shining with such open, naked want. He whimpers again as his cock drools against his stomach; his balls look so swollen, Arthur wonders if he could come untouched, from nothing but his ass being filled.

When a second finger goes in, Rory loses it. He cries out, back bowing off the bed. “ _Merda_ , Ace, I’m gonna—I’m gonna blow, don’t make me yet, wanna—wanna have you inside me—”

“Fuck,” Arthur hisses, and just like that, the tenuous hold on his control shatters. He had every intention of stretching Rory good and proper, making the first push smooth as silk, but he just can’t now. Not when his boy his thrashing and begging so sweetly, _needing_ him. 

Arthur can never say no when Rory needs him.

“You’re going to feel so good,” Arthur whispers; whether it’s to himself or for Rory, he doesn’t know. He smears the rest of the oil over his cock and gives himself one good stroke, moaning at the shock of pleasure. It’s not going to last long. He should be embarrassed over this fact—he’s far from a goddamn teenager—but he can’t bring himself to care. Rory is all heat and breathless desperation and solid, perfect _male_ beneath him, and he’s all Arthur’s. 

He slides home with his hands tangled with Rory’s, and they both call out each other’s name.

It’s like falling off a cliff and not caring where the landing will be, only knowing you’ll be caught and safe and live to see another day. He melts into Rory’s body, like he’s meant to be there, a perfect fit. He thinks he’s moving, but he can’t be sure; Rory’s holding him down, hands pulled free and clinging to Arthur’s back, legs hiked around Arthur’s hips. He’s shaking—or maybe that’s Arthur—and time speeds up and slows down all at once, and Arthur thinks, _I want to be a part of you forever._

Rory comes untouched against Arthur’s stomach, a hot bloom of wet heat. There are tears in his eyes, sweat in his hair, his scent saturating every inch of Arthur’s skin. Arthur presses both hands against the mattress and buries himself as deep as he can— _Where do I end and you begin?_ His teeth sink into Rory’s neck as he dies a small and exquisite death.

He collapses in an inelegant heap against Rory. Distantly, he thinks he should be a gentleman and get Rory a warm washcloth to clean up; his body has other ideas, unfortunately.

“You still alive?” Rory asks, and oh. Oh, fuck. If that’s how Rory’s sounds immediately after sex—growly contentment layered over prickly affection—Arthur will most definitely never survive.

“Give me a second,” Arthur says. He opens one eye and sees the darkening purple bruise on Rory’s neck. He’ll never hear the end of it from Jade.

Arthur grins.

“Well, you’re smiling, so I guess you enjoyed yourself.”

“Guess I did.” Arthur presses his lips to the bruise as he pulls out of Rory, who hisses softly. “Sorry,” he whispers.

“Naw, it’s nice. Feels… _stupefencente_. Amazing.” He stretches both arms over his head, a lazy, sated looseness in his limbs. 

“You’ll be sore in the morning.”

“Worth it.” Rory cards his fingers into Arthur’s hair to pull him down into a kiss. “Still gonna steal your pillows,” he says into Arthur’s mouth.

 _Or you could just stay with me._ Arthur bumps his nose against Rory’s, says instead, “We need to get you cleaned up.”

“But I smell like you.” Rory winces and glances away. “I mean, I don’t mind.” He yawns and starts to curl away from Arthur, but Arthur’s not having it. Not after everything.

“Fine, we’ll sleep for a bit, then have a bath.” He pulls Rory against his chest and snuffles into his hair. After a moment he feels Rory deflate in a long, quiet sigh.

“Snuggler, huh?” Rory murmurs. Arthur feels warm fingertips trip over the back of his hand.

“Sometimes. Problem?”

“Just can’t believe the dashing Ace Kenzie gets all square in bed.”

“I’m a man of many mysteries,” Arthur says as he mouths the back of Rory’s neck. His ass fits perfectly against Arthur’s spent cock, and Arthur spares a second to imagine waking up and sliding lazily back into all that tight, wonderful heat. 

“ _Risolverò il tuo mistero_ ,” Rory says, so softly Arthur almost misses it. His hand curls around Arthur’s arm, and soon he’s breathing deep and even.

Eventually, Arthur whispers, “I hope that means _I love you_.” He presses a ghost of a kiss against Rory’s shoulder, then lets himself chase him into sleep.


End file.
